


The End of the World

by Mira



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-06
Updated: 2010-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-05 22:21:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira/pseuds/Mira





	The End of the World

Even in mid-October, Morocco was incredibly hot. Billy wiped the sweat from his face and the back of his neck, took another swig of lukewarm water, and settled back in the flimsy chair, waiting for his next call. He could wait in his trailer, but he wanted to watch the setup for the next scene. He'd directed a number of plays but never a movie; after all these years, he felt ready to try. Maybe next time he saw Sean they could discuss finding a project.

He smiled to himself. Tomorrow was his last day, the day after that he'd pack, and the day after that he'd be on a plane back to New Zealand, where Dom would be waiting.

It had been a long time since he'd seen Dom. Almost a year, he calculated; they always spent the New Year together, but had not met since then, though they frequently spoke by phone. Although not even that since he'd been in Morocco, where he was lensing another boy's adventure story; he seemed to be specializing in those. Though it was the end of the shoot, they were actually filming the opening sequences today, and then he was done; the second units had some work, but nothing he needed to be here for, and he was anxious to leave.

Years ago, Billy had left an ex-wife in London, and he could run into former lovers all over the world. Friends, too, from plays and movies he'd done; there were two in this very production. It had been fun to party with them, and he felt he'd done good work here, but he was ready to move on. Sooner or later, no matter how brilliant the production, he was ready to move on. The only experience he'd never really left behind was Rings. Nor did he want to.

"Billy!" He looked up from his thoughts to find the others waiting for him. Only a few more hours and he could leave this, too. He beamed, his patented Billy-smile, and saw the answer in their faces. Never failed. Only the Fellowship weren't fooled by that smile, but none of them was here.

He didn't stay out very late celebrating that night, only a few pints with the boys, and then back to the hotel to begin packing. He decided he wanted out as soon as possible. He made arrangements to leave tomorrow night instead of waiting another day. He was anxious to see his old friends again.

"Old" being the key word, he thought, smiling as he wadded up tee shirts and boxers. Hard to believe Elijah would be forty, and Sean soon after would be fifty. He was fifty-two, of course, but that was somehow much easier to accept. And Dom at forty-four, nearly forty-five. Amazing, that that young crackerjack could be that old. Not much more grownup, though, despite Dom's own ex-wife and a trail of lovers longer than Billy's and certainly more varied. Darlin' boy. Billy smiled again, his true smile, the one for Dom only.

Soon. He'd see Dom soon, and shortly afterwards Elijah. Elijah, now, that might be trouble -- the death of a marriage was, Billy knew, always painful, and they'd been married a long time. Not a particularly good marriage, in Billy's opinion, but neither had his been. Nor had Dom's.

He shook his head, annoyed at the way the hair tickled his neck. He'd had to grow it out for his movie and was looking forward to getting it trimmed as soon as he could. He tugged it back into a little ponytail and set to packing again, wondering in what state they'd find Elijah. Elijah hated to fail at anything, in fact, rarely had, and certainly not in his personal life. But this might be different.

He collapsed onto the bed. He'd packed everything he could; the rest he'd finish in the morning. He'd arranged to have his luggage taken directly to the airport where it would meet him for the night flight out. He was looking forward to flying across Africa at night, to Buenos Aires for the first stop, something he'd never done before. Sleeping across the Atlantic.

He'd slept with Elijah several times, he remembered, rolling onto his stomach. Not recently, but in the middle years of their friendship. Before either of them had married, and once immediately after Billy's divorce. And that memorable time in Toronto when he, Dom, and Elijah had met in bed. What a brilliant yet terrible time that had been. He loved Elijah, had from the beginning, and it had been amazing to watch him grow up into the man he now was.

He wondered if Elijah and Sean would ever come together. If that hadn't been the most obvious thing in the world, at least to Billy and Dom. And Viggo. And Orli. And Sir Ian, God rest his soul. All the Fellowship knew, except the two principals.

He stretched up and turned out the light. It was too hot to get under the sheet, so he lay there in the sticky silence of the hotel room and waited for time to pass. Just a little more time and he'd be off, back to New Zealand and back to the hobbits. Back, really, to Dom.

He smiled again at the thought, closing his eyes.

~ ~ ~

Elijah stood outside the courthouse smoking. It was a beautiful day in New York, a Woody Allen kind of day, the leaves glowing golden as they hung upon the autumnal trees. He leaned against the cool stone balustrade, resting his weight on one leg, and waited. By the time he'd finished his second cigarette, his ex-wife had left. He wasn't sure if she'd been aware of him as she walked away, but he thought not. Surrounded by lawyers and friends and at least two lovers he knew of, she was enjoying being the center of attention. For a change, he thought a bit meanly, but it was true. He'd married her because she was beautiful and fun and loved being in the spotlight, something he could provide her every time they stepped outside. Unfortunately, she didn't care for his work, or the depth with which he sunk himself into it, nor for the fact that he needed more and more time out of the spotlight to recover and recuperate. She wanted the parties, and to be honest, he did, too, just not as many, as loud, or as long.

People change. Sean had told him that, Billy had told him, Dom had told him. He knew that. He'd changed. More than she, really. Well, now he had an ex-wife. At least none of the hobbits had three ex-wives, the way Orli did, or four, the way Sean Bean did. Even Viggo had only two in his collection.

And wasn't that a cynical way of thinking? He stubbed out the third cigarette and left. Walking, still his preferred method of transportation after all this time in New York. He had a long walk ahead of him to his apartment, where he'd finish packing for the flight to New Zealand. His first real visit since Rings, despite all his promises to himself and the others. But none of them had ever really returned. It had felt impossible in some ways. Until now.

His cell rang, so he stopped and backed out of the crowded sidewalk into the entrance of an out-of-business deli. Sean's number glowed up at him. "Hey."

"Lij."

"What's wrong? You sound terrible."

"Fuck. Just fuck."

"Sean? Talk to me, bro."

But Sean began to cry instead, and Elijah felt his ulcer churn. "Is it the girls? Tell me, Sean."

"No. It's Christine. Aw, fuck, Lij." He sobbed harder.

Elijah knew then. Sean, too. "Fucking hell," he said more to himself than Sean. "I'm coming out there. Where are you?"

"At my mom's."

"I'll be there tonight. I'm almost packed anyway. Come to New Zealand with me, Sean. It's time."

"Oh, fuck, Lij. How did it come to this?"

"Sweetie, what did you tell me?"

Sean made a gasping sound that Elijah recognised as his laugh. "Was I moron enough to tell you that things change?"

"You were."

"Well, fuck me."

Now Elijah laughed, and pulled his cigarettes from a pocket. "Love to, babe. Been after your ass for decades."

"How serious are you?"

"Sean. You really are a moron."

"So you're coming?"

"Fast as I can."

"And we'll go to New Zealand?"

"The minute you're ready."

"Love you, Lij. I really, really do."

Elijah laughed again, despite the tears in his eyes. "I've loved you so long, Sean," he whispered, bending low over the phone, his back to the street. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry about Chris. But you can't tell me this is a surprise. You knew how she felt, and I know how you felt."

Sean sniffed and said, "Yeah. You're right." He sighed, and Elijah listened patiently while he blew his nose. "Okay. I'm okay. Pretty much. Mostly."

"You will be."

"Yeah. Be careful."

"Always. I'll call you when I know what time I'm flying out; we'll have a good talk then."

"Right. I'll be waiting."

~ ~ ~

Sean hung up the phone and wiped his eyes again. It was a hot day in the Valley; he was dressed in shorts and a baggy tee shirt. He realised he'd forgotten to ask Elijah about the divorce; it must have happened by now. Well, tonight they'd have a good talk, Lij had said. Knowing him, he would be in a cab on his way to the airport for his flight to LA and Sean, but that was fine. He'd be here soon, and then they'd talk some more. And all the way to New Zealand, and for however long they stayed out there, and maybe even longer. Maybe he'd finally get the conversation with Elijah that he'd been longing for for so many years. He didn't want to ever stop talking to Elijah. He was desperately lonely for Elijah's presence in his life.

"Want some coffee?" his mom asked, leaning around the doorframe.

"Yeah," he said, straightening up. "I would. Lij will be out tonight; I told him he could stay here."

"Of course he can, honey. He's family, too."

"Yeah." He smiled at her.

"Now blow your nose and come into the kitchen."

He tried not to roll his eyes at her. "Yes, Mother."

~ ~ ~

"You sure this is the place?" Dom asked, peering around from the backseat of the SUV.

"Yes, sir," the driver said, opening his door. "Very isolated."

"That it is." Dom climbed out, his feet slipping on the muddy and matted tussocks of grass.

The driver took his arm. "Careful, sir. It's not far now."

Embarrassed and somewhat irritated, Dom shook him off and pulled out his computer case. The driver led the way up the flagstone path; it wound to the left, under a weeping willow tree that trailed its pendant branches over and around them; like Old Man Willow, Dom thought, smiling in memory.

"And here we are." The driver pulled out an enormous ring of keys and showed one to Dom. "Front door knob, and this one is for the security bolt." He unlocked them both and waited for Dom to enter. "I'll bring your supplies and luggage in, sir."

The house was dark and very cold; Dom knew at once that no one had been in it for a long time. "Lights?" he asked.

"Here, sir. I'll show you the back-up generator as well." He tugged on a braided cord, and lights flickered on, first immediately above them and then down a long corridor.

"Dear god," Dom said, feeling his mouth quirk. "How very Elijah."

"I wouldn't know about that, sir," the driver said, "but it's unique. Do you know the history?"

"Not at all. My friends selected it. They're to be down in a while."

"Yes, sir. I'm to pick up two more guests; one in four days, another in a week."

The next guest, Dom knew, would be Billy, flying in from Morocco where he'd been making a movie. Then Elijah, straight from his divorce in New York.

"Yes, sir. I'll leave all that with you. Would you like to choose your room and see the house and grounds?"

"Thank you." Feeling a bit phony, Dom followed the driver around the house, up and down stairs. The ground floor included the enormous foyer that led into a kind of salon; he could imagine beautifully dressed men and women gathering here before dinner, to sip champagne and discuss matters of global importance and no import at all, flirting and teasing and deciding the future of countries. Beyond that was a grand dining room with a long table, highly polished, over which hung three separate and equally grand chandeliers.

The kitchen was, inconveniently, down another flight of stairs and below ground, but it was large and Dom knew it would be warm and welcoming once the cooker was on. He'd brought lots of food, and he and the driver took three trips to carry it all in; perhaps he'd gone overboard. But when the wine bottles were gleaming in the racks, and oranges and clementines mounded in a blue glass bowl, and the fridge humming contentedly full of lamb and beef and even partridge, he felt more like John Rhys-Davies. He would be a good host for this special time.

The first floor was full of bedrooms, but only two baths. "Very old fashioned," the driver said apologetically, but Dom had shared baths with his friends before and it would be no hardship. He chose the largest bedroom, as was his prerogative in opening the house. Situated in a corner, large windows lined two walls and the enormous bed was set diagonally between them. He leaned against one window and looked out over a small orchard; beyond the trees, the sea hovered, grey in the overcast afternoon.

"Would you like to see outside now?"

He followed the driver down the stairs and out through the sun room, behind the dining room. Its glass walls opened onto a stone patio with stone steps leading down into a formal garden, long since lost to nature. The roses wound wildly around the waist-high wrought-iron fence. A gate on the east side of the garden was locked, wrapped in coils of heavy chain with an old-fashioned lock on it. "No key for that, sir," the driver said. "Not sure where it goes."

But on the other end of the garden, the west end, toward the sea, the gate stood open, hanging loosely, and they passed through it, down the gravel path and into the orchard. "What kind of trees?" Dom asked, touching the bark.

"All kinds. The original owners traveled the world collecting different species. Some are from China, some Australia, many from Europe. I'm afraid I don't know much about trees."

"That's all right." Dom knew about trees, and he'd learn about these. He'd brought some books, and there was always the internet.

"If you continue along this path, you'll come to a cliff face. There are wooden stairs set into it, leading down to the sea, and a lovely beach. Very nice for picnicking, or so I'm told."

Dom nodded. This was a wonderful place. He held his breath and could hear only the driver beside him, his shoes crunching on the gravel, the light breeze stirring the leaves in the orchard, and, very faintly, the sound of the ocean as it rolled to and fro.

"Will there be anything else, sir?"

He turned. "No. Thank you. This is perfect. So you'll be back in four days?"

"Yes, sir. If you think of anything you need, you have the number."

They began to walk back through the orchard, toward the house, but this time the driver didn't go back in but led Dom around the western side. Another small private garden had been built; he could see through the low window into the kitchen, and realised it must be the remains of a vegetable and herb garden. The only herb he recognised was thyme, growing low and soft-grey against the ground.

"You said there was a story to this house?"

"Yes, well, a little one. About a hundred and fifty years ago a couple settled here. They'd come from America, they say; left because it was getting too big and busy." Dom felt his eyebrows fly up; too big and too busy that long ago? "Quite wealthy they were, of course, and very well traveled. They say this house is modeled after a house they loved in England; in Sussex, I believe. For a while they lived here happily, but it is so isolated they began to take long journeys. That's when they collected all the trees."

They stood at the SUV again. Dom was grateful that Billy had made arrangements for the driver to ferry Dom out and get the place set up for their visit. "What happened to them?"

"Oh, I don't know, sir. There's no mystery that I'm aware of. Like all of us, they got old and couldn't travel anymore. Settled in here. A few servants to help them. Of course, they had to get in and out by horse cart back them, and that took a full day and a half, so it was isolated for old folks. He died first, of heart failure. She lived on for a long time, caring for the orchard. They had no heirs and the house eventually came to be owned by the state."

"Who now rent it out."

"Yes, sir. Well, not often, sir. It's just who you are. All us Kiwis think the world of you hobbits, you know. So when Sir Billy asked, well, the prime minister was only too happy to oblige."

Dom smiled. Sir Billy. Well, why not? Brilliant actor, marvelous philanthropolist. If Mick Jagger could have been made a knight, why not Dom's best friend? "Thank you," was all he said though, and shook the driver's hand.

"Was a pleasure to meet you, sir. Mustn't hesitate to call if we can do anything for you. Perhaps you'll spend a few days in town."

"We'd like that. Amazin' that anyone remembers us at all."

"Oh, sir." The driver beamed at him fondly. "I'll see you in four days, then, unless you call earlier."

Dom watched as the driver backed and turned, then waved at him, still smiling at the welcome. Here he'd thought the driver had been stand-offish, when he'd just been shy, a little awed at meeting an old hobbit.

He shut the gate and leaned against it, watching the afternoon melt into evening. The air was nearly still, the sky a pearly pink in the west, darkening to deep blue in the east. Here he was in New Zealand again, on the uttermost tip of the South Island, waiting for his friends. With four days to do as he wished: sleep, walk, read, listen to bone-shattering music, or stare into the sky.

He sighed and walked into the house.

He spent the next few hours getting settled. He unpacked and took over an entire bathroom; Billy would have to fight for an inch of space, but he was used to that. A large cedar wardrobe stood next to the door to his bedroom, so he hung his clothes in that and stored the suitcase under the bed. Then downstairs to the kitchen, where he fired up the cooker and the fireplace both. Early spring was still quite cool this far south; he felt he could smell Antarctica on the breeze.

He opened a bottle of wine, sipping from a heavy crystal glass while he prepared a modest supper of eggs, asparagus, and toast. He was trying to stop smoking again, but it was such a beautiful evening that afterwards he took another glass outside onto the stone patio and lit a cigarette.

The night was utterly peaceful. For the first time in more years than he could remember, he couldn't hear any traffic. No other human voice, no television, no sound except the stirring of the leaves, small animals scurrying in the dark, and the sound of his own fragile heart thumping in his chest.

He'd never flown well, and it had been a long trip from London, literally twenty-four hours in the air, so after a second cigarette he retreated to his bedroom. Although it was only ten in the morning in London, he felt tired enough to sleep. He took a hot shower, grateful for the hot stinging needles of spray rinsing the travel off him, and fell into bed still damp. Sleep pulled him instantly under.

He woke disoriented, hours later, unsure where he was. No one in bed next to him, but there hadn't been for some time, except the occasional guest, usually a pretty and much-younger girl easily impressed by his fame. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. New Zealand. He was back, after so many years away. He, Billy, and Elijah had always said they'd buy a place there, but one thing and another kept them from doing so, until a decade and then two had passed, but at long last, he was back.

A kind of homecoming, he thought. He fumbled on the bedside table until he found his cigarettes and lighter, and lit up, inhaling gratefully. His watch glowed the time: two in the morning. It would be two in the afternoon in London, and he would just now be getting up most days. He'd just come off the run of a play, and for the last few months he'd've been up at this time to bathe and eat and read the paper before going to the theatre.

Now he was free.

He sat up, shoving a pillow behind his lower back. The sky beyond his windows radiated a dim gunmetal grey; he wondered if it was some kind of ionization caused by being this far south, so close to the hole in the ozone above the pole. Eerie, but beautiful.

Again he was struck by the silence. Almost literally struck; his eardrums seemed to ring from the silence, and he shivered with the realization of how isolated he was. He'd never really liked London; his joke was that it was too full of Londoners, but he found the constant white noise of a city soothing. Here, there was only himself: his skin moving across the sheets, the creak and pop of his back, and the sizzle of the burning cigarette paper.

"You said you needed some space," he whispered, and smiled in remembrance at the spoken voice piece he'd done for Viggo so many years ago. Sounded pretty sexy even now, he judged, though his voice was a bit raspier. More like Gandalf's than Merry's. Women had liked it when he'd recited that to them, especially in bed; odd, considering what a hostile piece it had been.

A sudden shuddery noise drew his attention away from himself and outside the house. A wind? The ocean? He stubbed out his cigarette and rose, standing nude by the window looking out toward the sea. Darkness filled the horizon; no stars pierced the lowering cloud cover. Only the dull grey hovered above him.

Years and years and years ago, Sean had given him a small paperweight, a piece of ocean-washed glass that he'd had engraved to read, "The worst loneliness is to not be comfortable with yourself." Mark Twain had said that, he'd told Dom, cupping Dom's hands with his. Dom knew even at the time that the sentiment had as much to do with Sean's life as with his own, but he appreciated the gift. The paperweight traveled with him; the words remained in his mind.

Sean and Elijah and Billy were lonely, too, Dom knew. They had, over the years, shyly alluded to this, never discussing it in any depth, but aware that they were different from other people. Their years in New Zealand and working together had changed them at some impossible level. As if each of them had suffered a permanent, debilitating injury, like Frodo losing his finger, from which there was no possible recovery. They struggled on; they did well professionally, but their personal lives had been altered so profoundly that Dom knew, and had known for many years, that no rescue was possible for them.

Was rescue the right word? Dom still wasn't sure. Each of the four had come together over the years, in love and sorrow, each had found comfort in the others, but still they remained different, separate. The Shire has been saved, Frodo had told Sam, but not for me. The movie had been made, well received, was considered a classic; all had done well out of it, though some better than others; all had had other relationships, even children, but still --

Dom shook his head. Ridiculous, to go over such old tired ground now. He saw nothing outdoors but a heavy sky and the blurred tops of the orchard; distantly, he heard the sea. He went back to bed and slept till morning.

"Up, up, up at dawn," he murmured, staring into the mirror as he shaved. Today he'd fix something and carry it down to the shore; he was anxious to see the sea. Maybe they could surf here. He and Billy still surfed; two old grey dudes balancing on boards, impressing the younger men and especially the girls. Maybe he'd pull out his paints, too. Elijah's birthday was coming up and he wanted to do something for him. He'd been thinking of a landscape, but maybe a still life. Something emblematic of their friendship and love.

He paused, razor in hand. That noise again -- a shuddery sound. Earthquake? New Zealand had lots of them. But the curtains weren't swaying. Not a wind, either. Maybe the ocean. All the more reason to go down to see it.

He finished quickly, and packed a meal of oranges, bread, chocolate, a good chunk of New Zealand cheddar, and a thermos of coffee. The air was cool and moist, the sky still heavily overcast, so he dressed warmly, and wore what he privately thought of as his hobbit jacket, a thick dark brown wooly thing with a big hood. Eccentric looking, but he had a right to be. Age brings its blessings, he thought, smiling as he shrugged into the jacket and slung the pack over his shoulder.

The day was colder than it had been when he arrived; he was grateful for his jacket and the coffee sloshing behind him. He buttoned up tightly and pushed his hands into the big square pockets as he strode down the gravel path through the orchard. He paused occasionally to study the trees. Many were easily identifiable: apple, orange, lemon, Thai lime, gingko, bamboo. There was a towering monkey puzzle, and something he thought was a cestrum nocturnum. But many were unknown to him, and some quite alien in appearance. One of his tasks while he was here, he decided, would be to map the orchard. He would do little washes of each tree and identify them. If it turned out well, he'd leave the map in the house for the next guest to enjoy.

The orchard grew shabbier and wilder as he neared the cliff face the driver had described, until he had to shoulder his way through ferns taller than he and dripping with moisture. Then suddenly he was out -- teetering on the sandy edge of a sheer drop. He stepped back, gasping.

In front of and below him, the Pacific swelled, eternal and endless and everlasting, the cradle of all these islands and cultures and creatures. When he'd calmed his heart, he looked around and saw the wooden steps, deeply stained by time and the elements. It was a far hike down, but a long crescent beach lay invitingly below.

Dom started down the steps, leaning to his left, away from the fall. They were still sturdy but no handrail had been built. He had always been a bit afraid of heights but the vista was so generous and the rush of air from the shore below pushed him away from the edge, so he felt safe enough. He was glad to finally reach bottom, however, and jump onto the crunchy sand. He stopped to look back up; it looked even higher from below. He shaded his eyes from the glare of the cloud cover. Far above, he could see the top step, and beyond it the thick ferns he'd popped through to reach it. Have to warn the boys about that first step; it was a doozy.

But the sea called him and he turned away to watch. The tide was coming in; he could see the high tide mark, lines of seaweed looping along the beach. The beach was well over a kilometer long, he estimated, both ends disappearing into rocks that pushed out into the water. Sea lions and seals might play there; he'd have to keep an eye out.

He walked about half way toward the northernmost rocks, realizing he was still exhausted from the trip out. He plunked down into the sand, burying his hands in it. Although the day was cold, the sand still held some heat. He stared out at the water, hoping the waves here would offer surfing. Maybe he and Billy could rent boards; they were good enough surfers they could coax a ride out of almost anything. Elijah and Sean weren't nearly as good, but they liked to try, and Dom liked to hear them laugh and curse as they fell off and climbed back on their boards until they were exhausted. It had been a long time since he'd seen Elijah try to surf; he wanted to see that again.

Dom poured himself coffee and settled back in a half-lotus, focusing on his spine and alignment and breathing, even as he enjoyed the scent of the coffee rising from the thermos cap and the salty air blowing into his face.

He sloshed the coffee a bit when he heard the shuddery thud again, behind him and to his left. He twisted around, trying to see what had caused it. How long since he'd last heard it? Almost two hours since he'd stood in the bathroom shaving. Surely not some awful sonic boom. Were the New Zealand Air Force out here? He'd have a few words for Billy if that were the case.

Well, there was naught to do about it now, so he settled back down and sipped his coffee. He decided to do some of his asanas right here on the beach. Few people, he knew, would ever have this opportunity; he would not squander it. Even if he did sneak a smoke afterwards.

The climb up the cliff face was more difficult than coming down, and Dom had to admit that he was no longer the twenty-two year old boy who'd worked all day and partied all night when he'd first lived in New Zealand. So much had happened since then. He'd made some pretty bad decisions shortly after Rings, but with the help of his friends and family he'd pulled out of it and gone on to do some good work.

His parents were gone now, and he missed them terribly. They'd always been so supportive of him, even at his worst moments. But his brother had been there, and his nieces and nephews worshipped him, rightly or wrongly. Viggo and Henry were constants in his life; really, they were family, too. He took pride in the fact that he'd helped raise Henry, that Henry would come to him when he had a problem or needed advice.

Even Orlando, a superstar earning millions of dollars just to read a script, called Dom; they'd had dinner in London two nights before Dom had left. Orli had been married three times already, and had a son with the unwieldy name of Viggo Dominic, fortunately called Nick; Orli had brought pictures of Nick that Dom had stuffed in his wallet to show the other hobbits.

A good life, he told himself, fixing an early dinner in the kitchen. He ate there, too, at a round wooden table with a metal plate embossed in the center. Like Boromir's shield, he realised with a pause. He'd seen Sean in a play a few months earlier, up in Edinburgh. They'd had dinner, too, and too many drinks, and had gone to bed together. For comfort as much as for desire, Dom thought, smiling as he sipped the wine.

They'd all slept together at one time or another. Almost a point of honour, it seemed, to sleep with the Fellowship. Often it was just that, too -- sleeping. A return to the womb, Sean Astin had called it, for they had slept together as well, in LA, New York, London, and even Bombay. And a hot miserable sticky night that had been, but they'd lain in Sean's uncomfortable bed, shrouded by mosquito netting, drinking nasty orange soda with gin, laughing until they cried.

Where had the day gone? Dom wondered as he brushed his teeth. Tomorrow he'd get out his paints. Maybe start a few treatments of the orchard. And he really needed to decide what to do about Elijah's birthday. Only a few months away, but he'd be turning forty, and that was a big deal for anyone.

As he climbed into bed, he heard the secret shudder. Deep, as if from the earth itself, or maybe the sea, and powerful. A vibration in Dom's body, like earthquakes caused, but without the swinging chandeliers and trembling of furniture. Just a sudden, strong, subterranean jolt, and then nothing for hours.

He lay down on the cool sheets, shivering. Three more days alone, and then Billy would be here. He closed his eyes. Billy. His dearest friend, companion of his heart, and more than that. More than he could explain. More than he wanted to explain.

Sleep took Dom as suddenly as it had the night before, and he dreamt of Billy. Almost every New Year's they spent together, in a hunting lodge of all places. Sometimes Elijah would come, rarely Sean would, but always the two of them. They'd slept together last year, too. They didn't always. Sometimes one or both of them had been married, or involved with someone else; sometimes it just didn't seem right. But usually, eventually, Dom would climb into Billy's bed, or Billy into Dom's, and they'd lie together, wrapped around each other, talking, kissing, making old and friendly love. Perhaps not as passionately as they once had, but with a depth of feeling that no casual lover could elicit from Dom. Nor, he suspected, from Billy.

He woke up hard and uncomfortable, and rolled onto a pillow, to push into it, masturbating quietly, thinking of Billy. They'd sleep together this time, Dom knew. Billy was alone again, and Dom had been alone for a long time. Well, he still fucked the pretty girls who blushed and giggled and succumbed to his charms, and the occasional boy hoping for a leg up in the industry, but there'd been no one serious for years now. He was looking forward to seeing Billy for many reasons, but that was an important one. Someone who knew his pleasures and delighted in pleasing him, and someone he knew so well.

And maybe Elijah would join them. That had happened twice. The first time when Elijah's heart had been shattered, betrayed by someone he thought he loved. And maybe he had. But Dom and Billy had been in Toronto, of all places, doing some play, when Elijah had shown up, miserable and defeated, and they'd pulled him into their bed. A good night, for Dom, but Elijah had been embarrassed the next day. Billy had jollied him out of it, of course, and though he hadn't gone to bed with them again the next night, the three of them had had a brilliant time, partying till all hours, and Elijah had returned to New York in better spirits.

The second time the three of them had slept together was when Sir Ian had passed away. What a terrible dark time that had been for all of them. Pete and Fran had flown in from Wellington to attend the funeral, a huge state thing attended by royals and presidents. That time had been for comfort.

Dom came with a sharp cry, and the house shuddered with him. "Aw, fuck," he moaned, and shoved the pillow onto the floor, deciding to deal with the mess in the morning.

A brighter day greeted Dom when he finally awoke, so he took his sketch pad out into the orchard and began line drawings of the trees, mapping out their placement. The different greens entranced him, so he pulled out his oils as well, and began mixing colors, hoping to capture some of the visual delight that confronted him here. He hummed to himself, snatches of songs not listened to in years but brought to mind by the knowledge that Billy and Elijah would be here soon.

The sun was nearly directly overhead when the deep earth-shivering vibration came again. This time, Dom tidied away his oils and wiped his hands, then headed straight for the beach, leaving the supplies right there in the orchard. He was pleased with the results, and felt the need to stretch his legs anyway. But mostly he was pushed beyond curiosity, and a need to know. The old need to know, that had driven him since childhood. "Twitchy energy" he'd once called it, and that was partly true. Certainly it was his twitchy energy driving him down the long steep climb to the shore.

He walked to the south this time, watching the cliff face although he didn't know what for. The boom had just sounded, so it wouldn't come again soon, but he had a long walk ahead of him, and a pretty one. He'd grabbed a bottle of water but nothing else; still, with the sun finally out and the blue waves curling onto the white sandy shore, he was happy, happier than he'd been for a long time.

This was the gift Billy had given him, he realised, crunching through the sand. Time alone in a beautiful place, with friends and lovers shortly to arrive. Not something he would have ever chosen for himself, but Billy always knew Dom better than Dom knew himself.

He walked to the very end of the beach, right where the vertical overhang had collapsed into the water. He clambered up the slippery rocks and found tidepools, the water surprisingly warm, full of tiny crabs and flower-like creatures open to the sun. "Hey, you," he murmured, kneeling to peer into one. He crouched over it for a long while, watching, trying to identify the inhabitants. Here, he thought, was Elijah's birthday present. He'd paint this tiny world, a microcosm of all New Zealand, of the whole entire world, in this window of water.

The surface of the water trembled and behind him he heard a deep-throated rumble. He turned and looked into the wall to his left; right where it had collapsed, he could see an opening into the cliff. Some kind of cave, an underground chamber open to the sea.

He climbed off the rocks and back to the sand, then followed the collapsed cliff face back. Like looking into the tidepool, but vertical, he thought, peering past the rocks shiny with moss and water. It was open behind there; some trick of the fallen rocks had left an opening to the sea.

He began climbing again, placing his feet carefully between the open rocks. Wouldn't do to be injured here, so far from anyone. No one would come looking for him for days, and Billy would be pissed.

He could see light past the rocks, but not like the bright daylight falling on his shoulders and back. He pushed his face right against the rocks, cupping his hand around his eyes. Inside, the light glowed dim and blue; it shattered and shimmered against the shiny rocks, flashing into Dom's eyes. A blue as blue as Elijah's eyes, and just as deep and subtle. He stood there, growing damp and chill as the water splashed up through the rocks, just watching the play of light.

As he watched, his eyes adjusted so he could make out the surface of the water, rising and falling with each swell. He could see the high tide line, decorated with mussels and seaweed, arcing across the interior of the rocks, not much lower than he was standing. He shivered, but pressed harder against the rocks. Is there a way in? he wondered. If there is, should I go in?

Shaking from cold and wet, he began to step down when he saw the surface of the water suddenly sink. It dropped rapidly, as if down a drain, and the quality of the light within changed. He pushed against the rocks harder, trying to see what was happening. The water was concave; he could see its gleaming surface tension, its color a deep translucent blue. There was a sudden silence, as if the sea itself had paused, and then the water shot up, exploding up and out through the rocks where he stood.

He was flung back, tumbling backwards onto the rocks, one elbow landing in a puddle, knocking his head before rolling to his left down, over the sharp stones, twisting his left knee. Water fountained out and down, drenching him, and the sun slipped behind the clouds rising from the west.

"Fuck," he murmured. He was soaking wet and shaking with cold. He cautiously rolled onto his side, drawing up his aching knee. "Oh, fuck." He was going to be black-and-blue for a month. His back hurt, both the skin and the muscles, and he had a terrific headache.

Slowly, carefully, he rose to his feet, clinging to the rocks so he stood bent over before standing upright. He put a hand to his face; one eye was swelling, a big goose egg above his left eye. His hands were covered in scratches, but at least blood wasn't pouring down his face.

He sighed and looked back the way he'd come. He had a long walk ahead of him, and evening was coming on. Time to get started.

Dom forced himself to pick up his paints and sketchbook that he'd left in the orchard, although his knees complained at every move and his head throbbed with each beat of his heart. He left them in the sunroom and went straight to his bath, stripping and almost falling into the tub as it filled. He lay in the hot water until it began to cool. His left eye was swollen nearly shut, but he couldn't bear the thought of putting ice on it as he knew he should. Instead, he took three ibuprofen, drank as much water as he could, and went to bed.

As he fell asleep, he heard again the distant boom and deep shudder of the water exploding up from its hidden cavern, the explosive heartbeat of the sea. He dreamt of Helm's Deep and oliphaunts and falling on the fields of Pelennor.

He woke to find Billy staring down at him. "You look like shite," Billy said, and bent over Dom to stroke his forehead. His hand felt cool against Dom's face. "You bluidy fool; what have ya bin doin'?"

Dom closed his eyes. "Painting," he whispered. "You're early."

"Couldn't stay away. How long's it bin since I've seen ya?"

"Too long."

"Yeah. Too long." Dom felt the bed dip as Billy crawled in. "Dom. Dommie. What have ya done."

"Are you angry at me?"

"Mebbe. Tell ya later. For now, just rest." Dom carefully moved his aching arm up, so Billy could lay his head on it, and the two men curled around each other.

"Wanted you," Dom said, relaxing into the warmth of Billy's presence. "So much."

"Me, too." He felt Billy's kiss against his cheek and turned his head, so the next kiss was on his lips.

"Don't go."

"Not bluidy likely. You obviously cannae be left alone."

Dom tried to laugh but it hurt too much. "Just bruised a bit."

"I can see that. Yer handsome face is a bit battered."

"Nose?"

"More crooked than ever."

"Damn."

"Still sexy on ya."

Dom opened his eyes and smiled at Billy. He felt stoned and in slow-motion. "I think I'm hallucinating."

"No, no. I'm here. Elijah will be here later than planned; he decided to wait and fly in with Sean. I'm thinkin' they may finally be gettin' together."

Dom's felt his smile grow; it stretched the muscles around his eyes, where the goose egg had been. "Sean's coming with Elijah? Finally. Took 'em long enough."

"Funny, how the Fellowship paired up. Like Pete knew all those years ago, when he cast us, eh?"

"That means you and me, Bill."

Billy kissed him again, still gently, and his eyes were soft with affection and humour. "You and me, Dom. Let's give it a try for real; is that all right with ya?"

"Oh, yeah. Hey," he tried to struggle up, but Billy's grip was firm. "Did you plan this?"

"If you mean did I plan for you to get sa banged up, yeh're madder than I thought."

"No, no, that this trip would. That we would." He stopped, feeling foolish, and settled back into the pillows and Billy's arms.

"No. Not a plan. But a hope. We just haven't had much luck apart, ya know?"

"Sir Billy. That seems pretty lucky to me, for a poor boy from Glasgow."

"Well, that, yes. But not in love, eh?"

"No. Not in love." Dom stared up at Billy. What a wise man he was, Dom thought. Always had been. But no, not lucky in love; none of them had been, none of the hobbits. Nor Orli. Not even Viggo.

But they had each other.

Eventually, Billy persuaded Dom to eat a cheese-and-pickle sandwich while he prepared for bed, shouting at him from the bathroom. "What a fuckin' mess ya made!" Dom smiled, pleased at the result. "And I noticed ya took the best bedroom." Billy stuck his head into the door of the bedroom. "I brought cider. Want some?"

"Please. And more ibuprofen."

They settled in bed together, sipping half-pints of cider. "Like an old marrit couple," Billy said, looking worriedly at Dom's battered face. "Tomorra you'll tell me all that happened. But right now I'm knackered. We have some time before the boys get here. Time to get sorted, I'm thinkin'."

"We do." Dom felt more like himself than he had in a day. "I'm not that hurt, Bill, really. Just a little tumble."

Billy raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing more. In a moment he took Dom's glass, turned out the light, and they lay back. How many times had they lain like this? In bed together, for comfort and companionship, for love and for sex, for all the reasons that the world turned and grew green each spring. Dom's head still throbbed, his back ached, the bruises and scratches on his hands and arms hurt, but he was comforted by Billy's warm presence in bed this night.

It was no longer silent, he realised. Instead of the endless silence of isolation, he could hear Billy breathing and his stomach grumbling. The scent of Billy filled his nose, his deodorant and toothpaste. And the warmth of Billy's body made the bed seem smaller and more cozy. How profoundly alone Dom had been, he acknowledged to himself, and not just here at the furthermost tip of the world. In bed with the silly girls and ambitious boys, with his ex-wife, he'd still been alone in a way he was not when Billy was with him.

Sleep covered Dom and he fell away from his aches and pains into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.

By the time the driver arrived nearly a week later with Sean and Elijah, Dom had finished a preliminary map of the orchard, and a first draft of the tidepool painting for Elijah. He and Billy had walked to the end of the beach and stood where he'd fallen so precipitously. From a safer distance they watched the water explode up, a powerful exhalation shooting the water out, and listened to the irregular booming the swell caused. "Incredible," Billy had murmured, taking Dom's hand.

Sean climbed out of the truck first, looking tired but contented. Behind him came Elijah, remarkably youthful despite closing in on his fortieth birthday, about which Dom planned to give him plenty of shit. The four men embraced on the flagstone path while the driver watched, beaming at the sight of the hobbits' reunion. "Can I take a picture?" he asked shyly, revealing a small digital camera, and they stood arm in arm, smiling at him. Later, Dom would discover the picture appeared in the entertainment pages of newspapers all over the world, to be cut out by fans who remembered them fondly from all those years ago.

"I'd like a copy," he said, not knowing what was to come, and the driver promised him one the next time he brought out supplies.

When the emptied truck had been driven away, the four men paused, suddenly and surprisingly awkward. "Well," Sean said at last, pulling Elijah closer. "We're back."

They laughed, Dom loudest of all, happy to know that they would soon be taking the piss out of him about his appearance and adventure. "Everything's the same, but everything's different," Elijah said looking around.

"Older," Dom said meaningfully, and Elijah made a face at him.

"Wiser," Billy said. "Well, some of us are. Dommie here, now. One look tells you he hasn't learnt a bluidy thing."

Sean put a hand on Dom's chin, gently turning his head. "You are a mess," he agreed. "Billy finally get fed up with you?"

"Har-bloody-har," Dom said, pulling away.

Billy slid his arms around Dom and kissed his bruised cheek. "Never," he told Sean. "Did this all by himself, he did."

Elijah laughed and tugged at Sean's hand, grabbing at Dom's and pulling them toward the house. "Let's get settled. We've got nearly a month here; lots of time to catch up. It'll take that long, too."

"I reckon it will," Billy agreed, his hair brushing Dom's face as he nodded.

A chill wind blew at their backs, pushing at them. Maybe a storm up from the pole, Dom wondered, shivering and wrapping his arm more firmly around Billy. They'd have to be sure all the windows were tightly shut tonight.

He watched Sean and Elijah enter the house, hand-in-hand, smiling at each other, and he looked at Billy's face, so near to his, smiling just as hard. Elijah was right; everything was different. The Fellowship had moved on, had shifted, re-aligned, and re-aligned again. He knew it would move on again, that nothing ever settled permanently, and certainly not human beings.

Dom led the way downstairs to the kitchen, to fix them coffee and begin the hours and hours of ceaseless conversation that stitched their lives together. But Billy sat him down instead. "I'll do this," he said, and Dom settled, happy to be waited on. Sean and Elijah began opening cupboard doors and peering into the fridge, and the scent of oranges rose in the air as Sean began to peel one.

"Is that the ocean I hear?" Elijah asked, pausing in his explorations, and they all stopped for a moment, listening. Far away, Dom heard a deep-throated boom, and looked up at Billy, who bent and kissed him.

"We'll go out tomorra and look," he said, stroking Dom's head. "T'is worth seein'. Just don't get too close."

Dom raised his head to catch Billy's lips again; behind him, he heard Elijah giggle and then silence, and knew Sean was kissing Elijah, too. When he released Billy, they smiled at each other. "Tomorrow," he said, and Billy nodded.

The worst loneliness is to not be comfortable with yourself, Mark Twain had written, and Dom agreed, but another terrible loneliness was to be empty of love, of the genuine fellowship he shared with these men. Now they were here, for a little while. We're back, Sean had misquoted, and Dom had laughed with the others, but it was true. For a little while, they were back.

"Hey," he said suddenly. "There's a locked gate out back. Maybe tomorrow we can see where it leads to."

* * *

Posted May 30, 2007


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